


In From the Cold

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas isn't always easy, Clint Feels, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, M/M, Meet the Family, Protective Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look through the window in the back door confirms Phil's hunch: Clint is sitting on the stairs that lead from the porch into the yard. (Or, a quiet moment with Phil and Clint during Christmas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In From the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Ralkana for looking this over!

Phil doesn't notice that Clint is gone, too busy looking at Lily's phone with its endless stream of pictures from her dance competitions and assisting Peter in deciphering the instructions for the Lego X-Wing he got this morning. Only when Phil glances over his shoulder to wave Clint over does he realize that the spot on the couch previously occupied by Clint is empty. Phil has no idea how long ago Clint left; guilt stirs in him for falling back so easily into family Christmas patterns that, until this year, didn't include Clint.

He gets up off the floor, smoothly extricating himself from the kids despite protests of “But Uncle Phiiiiiil,” and heads out into the hallway. He considers the stairs, but dismisses the possibility that Clint retreated to the guest room. He heads to the kitchen instead, and a look through the window in the back door confirms Phil's hunch: Clint is sitting on the stairs that lead from the porch into the yard. And he's only wearing the jeans and henley he threw on earlier when the kids woke them up. 

Phil grabs the wool blanket that's draped over a chair and heads outside. The wood under his feet creaks, and Clint turns to check out the noise. Phil waits until he can get a sense of Clint's mood. If Clint doesn't want company, Phil will drop off the blanket and leave him be. But Clint's eyes brighten at the sight of Phil, so Phil settles next to him on the steps, wrapping the blanket over both their shoulders.

“'s not that cold,” Clint says.

“Cold enough.” It's in the fifties, which is chilly enough without a jacket, and Phil can certainly feel the cold in Clint's body. He rubs a hand up and down Clint's back a few times before settling his hand at Clint's nape, thumb idling over the skin there. 

Clint slumps against Phil's side, resting his head on Phil's shoulder. “It got to be a little much in there.”

“I know. It's fine.” He draws Clint closer. 

“Everyone's really nice. And welcoming. And it's nice to be here.” 

“But it's still a lot to take in.”

“Yeah.” Clint finds Phil's hand under the blanket. 

Phil knew it might be overwhelming for Clint to come home with him—even he needed a period of readjustment to his sister's family and their suburban life. But he had the advantage of having known everyone for a long time, of having a place within the chaos of the family holiday. As hard has everyone tried to show Clint that he belongs, too, he must still feel at odds. “I'm glad you're here. That you came with me this year.”

Last year, they hadn't been together for long enough to know for sure they'd last, especially with their jobs being what they are. But this year, Phil felt that it was time, and Clint seemed surprised but excited when Phil asked him to go to Chicago for the holidays.

“Glad you asked. Has it always been this way?”

“Christmas?”

Clint hummed in agreement.

“Mostly. Some things change over the years, but others are the same as they've always been.” Ever since he and Melissa were kids. Same ornaments on the tree. Same kind of cookies left out for Santa.

“Must be nice.”

“It is.” Phil always appreciated the reliability of their family Christmas, especially in the last few years when his world had been turned upside down a few times.

“You can go back inside. I'll join you in a few.”

Phil can hear that Clint's heart is not in it. “How about we get some more of that mulled cider and head upstairs for a little while?”

Clint stays quiet for a few moments. “But won't your family—”

“They'll understand. And we'll head down for dinner.” He stands and tugs Clint with him into the kitchen.

They fill two mugs from the large pot that's on the stove. Leaving the blanket behind, they climb the stairs to the attic. After Phil closes the door, shutting out all the noise that carries easily through the rest of the house, he can see the rise and fall of Clint's shoulders.

Phil sets the mugs on the night stand and comes up behind Clint. He rests a hand loosely on Clint's side, not wanting him to feel caged. “Everything okay?”

Clint nods and turns, wrapping his arms around Phil to pull him into a hug.

“That doesn't make me think everything's okay,” Phil whispers into Clint's neck.

Clint doesn't respond. Phil holds him close until he pulls away.

Clint's head is bowed, his eyes on where he picks at the loose thread in Phil's sweater. “It's just...” he sighs. “I don't know how this works. Family. I don't want to screw up.”

They've talked about this before, and Phil has tried to ease Clint's mind about it, but he also understands—or at least tries to understand—what his family must look like from Clint's perspective, knowing what he knows about Clint's upbringing. “You won't screw anything up. Promise.”

Clint nods slowly, as if he has to convince himself. His eyes flick up to meet Phil's. “But if I do, you have to tell me.”

“I will.” He pulls Clint close again, holding him tight. Physical reassurance often works better for Clint than verbal assurance. Clint's hands press against Phil's back, suggesting that Phil was right in offering this level of comfort.

Once Clint lets go, he nods to the bed. “Wanna lie down for a while?”

Phil smiles. “Yes.” Being lazy with Clint is one of his favorite pastimes, and he gets to do it far less often than he'd like.

They fluff the pillows and stretch out, shoulders bumping comfortably. Clint pulls his Starkpad into his lap, and Phil reaches for his book—a biography of Hamilton because he needs to know what all the fuss is about.

“Mind if I take my ears out?” Clint asks.

“Go ahead.” Something eases in Phil's chest. Clint will only forego his hearing aids if he feels safe. While Phil knows that Clint always feels safe with him, that's not necessarily enough. Clint needs to know his immediate environment won't suddenly turn on him. It says a lot that a house Clint only set foot in for the first time a day ago feels safe enough to him.

Phil touches Clint's arm and signs _I love you_ , which Clint returns with his usual eye-roll and _Sap_ , but he can't quite wiggle under Phil's arm fast enough to hide his smile. Phil nuzzles Clint for good measure because he doesn't care if Clint thinks this is silly. He needs to make sure that Clint knows he is loved.

Clint calls up his favorite game, and Phil reads about a paragraph and a half before he closes the book again, much preferring to tune all his senses to Clint next to him, warm and alive and finally comfortable.


End file.
